


The Day the World Burned

by FWB



Category: Garfield - All Media Types
Genre: Eldritch, Horror, Post-Apocalypse, Psychological Horror, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23820256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FWB/pseuds/FWB
Summary: Jon had sinned. He had let that thing into his life. Now he is left to face the consequences on his own. Things seem pretty bleak for him, how could life possibly get any worse?
Kudos: 4





	The Day the World Burned

“Fuck.” Jon mentally cursed as he rifled through his supplies— hands emerging from his pack stained an unsightly red color. This was undoubtedly due to the exploded can of tomato soup crammed in alongside his non-perishables. Even now it appeared as if the deity that he had unwittingly brought into his home was toying with him. God did he wish Odie was still here to confirm that he was, in fact, still clinging to sanity’s sweet bosom. Unfortunately both Liz and the sweet pooch had perished during the escape from Muncie. Jon had to choke back a sob just from remembering.

Grabbing whatever he could out of the soiled pack, Jon transferred his non-souped belongings to his sleeping bag, which he tied as tightly as possible. Draping the bag across his shoulder, he headed deeper into the decrepit shopping mall. Here he had spent the last few days scavenging for supplies, coming up with only whatever slim pickings were left behind. With one hand securing his belongings, and the other on his trusty pen light—glow painted pink from the gunky tomato paste— he walked on.

As his boots crunched over the broken shards of the skylight overhead, Jon lamented his recent loss of maneuverability. With both of his limbs occupied, he was at a disadvantage against any malevolent being that might be lurking within the premises. Even so, he was hesitant to free up one of his extremities. Doing so would mean a loss of light, or a loss of his winter clothing. He could always leave his bag behind, but that would put it at risk of being tampered with again, or stolen. 

Deciding on a compromise, Jon set his bag down betwixt his feet. Using a globular drop of his saliva and his shirt, he wiped as much of the saucy residue as possible off of his light. Sighing in discontentment, he slipped the stock of the torch into his dry mouth, gripping it like a vice with his teeth. Even with most of the sauce cleared away, he still found himself fighting with the lingering sickly sweet flavor. With a series of heavy inhales through his nostrils, Jon forced his rebelling stomach into submission.

Taking a minute to ground himself, Jon truly observed his surroundings for once. Ever since _Judgement_ , he hadn’t had time for this silly little habit of his. Things were just moving too quickly for his mind to play catch up. As he gazed at the dilapidated, sun-bleached signs advertising everything from warm pizza to liquidation sales, he found himself craving a taste of the old world. 

Jon crept back up to a moderate pace. Whilst walking, his mind was drawn back into a train of thought that he’d been recently trying to shake: Is this his personal hell? Is God punishing him for releasing that abomination upon the mortal realm? Surely his benign creator could see that he meant no harm by his actions. How could he have known about the _thing_ that churned beneath tawny fur? He couldn’t have— nobody could have. It was undetectable— a moth hidden away in a fleshy cocoon waiting for the perfect time to emerge from its slumber. Day and night it feasted upon human sustenance until it was ready to emerge from its mortal shell. When it awoke it brought pure chaos upon the world. 

Jon wasn’t sure how far the destruction spanned. Every time he passed a news outlet, he would inadvertently slow his pace— staring through the rubble as if it would conjure up a new message from the outside world. He knew this was a hopeless endeavor, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop. The news had been a constant presence throughout his ‘happier existence’. To have it suddenly wiped out— along with most everything else— was a bit of a culture shock.

It’s not like news was spreading by word of mouth either— at least not to him. It had been a little over a week since Jon had last seen a fellow man, and that was not an experience he wanted to repeat— not yet at least. The cults formed in worship of the ‘New Messiah’ were pretty troublesome. Jon had just barely made it out of his last encounter with them by the skin of his teeth. He’d drained most of his supplies in the following weeks of recovery.

As Jon approached a directory he noticed a slightly sweet, musty odor. It was almost reminiscent of the pair of dirty socks that he had neglected to wash for a whole month back when things were normal. Looking at the thing, it wasn’t hard to see why. The glass encasing was chipped away, revealing a map that was absolutely coated in yellowish mold. “Ich!” Jon bemoaned, disgusted at the state of the thing. Upon closer inspection, the mold seemed to be oozing and bubbling in a way that no organic substance should. “What the hell?” Jon muttered to nobody apart from himself, fingers inching closer to the unusual fluid. 

An echoing ‘thump!’ from behind Jon prevented him from further pursuing his inquiry into the mysterious substance. Startled by the noise, Jon whipped around,terrified, accidentally spitting out his penlight in the process. It clattered to the ground and rolled somewhere behind him. Faster than even he could comprehend, his (sometimes) trusty Hi-Point found its way from his waistband to his watertight grip.

Pointing the weapon at a dark corner, Jon built up the courage to interrogate whatever went bump in the inky black . “Wh- who’s there?” Jon asked the darkness. His words were sputtered out, leading to him sounding way less confident than he’d like. The fact that his only light source was lost somewhere behind him certainly didn’t help. With nightfall approaching that light was a commodity he couldn’t afford to lose.

Exploring the abandoned monolith of human capitalism was bad enough during the day. At night, the shadows were an oppressive wall of darkness, clotting against your eyes, and making your skin itch. The place was, quite simply, impossible to navigate during the darker hours. As much as he didn’t want to turn his back to that thing, he knew that he’d have to head back soon. 

“Whoever or whatever you are, j-just stay over there.” He squeaked out, yet to change the focus of his gaze. Unfortunately for him, as he stepped back, his back found its way into the same gooey map that he was inspecting just moments prior. “Whaa?” he squawked as his back made contact with something solid. “Motherfucker!”

Looking away from the vicinity of the noise, Jon found that his back had made a solid amount of contact with the goop, much to his chagrin. “Ewww!” he groaned with equal parts anger and distress. Walking forward a little, and patting himself down with one hand revealed that a healthy portion of the gunk had transferred its way onto his blue flannel shirt. Shaking his hand to rid it of the tacky substance, Jon looked back over at the corner from which the noise originated. Nothing seemed even remotely out of the ordinary. 

Hesitantly, Jon tucked his gun back into his waistband. Grabbing his light off of the dusty floor, and repositioning his sack so that it made minimal contact with the gunk on his clothing, Jon decided it would be best to work his way back towards the entrance of the mall. He could always explore some more of its bowels tomorrow. Blowing off his light, and re-affixing it in his mouth, he reworked his way through the building that he had spent the last two days in, combing methodically through mounds of junk. 

Strangely enough, during the duration of his stay in this quaint little town, he had yet to see any other people. Sure, encountering other survivors was a rarity these days, but usually, Jon would encounter at least one other person while staying at any given local. The lack of a fellow scavenger, or even a crazy cult member, was making him go a little nuts himself. Whatever this could mean, it certainly wasn’t good. Maybe the _thing_ was finally running out people to keep its infernal furnace burning. Maybe it had made up its mind to finally come for him. Maybe another cult had swept through the town, taking everyone for _sacrifice._ Whatever it was, it was unnerving as all hell. 

_Three days._ He’d give himself _three_ more days to comb the structure in search of medical supplies. After that he’d be out of this town, maybe even out of this state, headed for some other ruined slice of civilization. He figured that he’d eventually work his way to D.C.— to see for himself what happened to the rest of America. _To see what he caused._

With that lovely thought, Jon set up camp only a stone's throw away from the main entrance. Of course he could’ve made his camp deeper in the structure, but then he would run the risk of ending up lost if anything went down. As much as he had explored the building, lots of it was still unfamiliar territory. If he made his camp any closer to the entrance he would run the risk of being spotted immediately upon entry. In his little bookshop hovel he felt safe, even if it was only temporary for the duration of his stay. The bookshop would probably be the _last_ place searched if anyone was to enter the building. 

Once Jon had rolled out his sleeping bag— setting everything else to the side temporarily— he began working on dinner. Unfortunately, all he had now was a single can of cream of mushroom soup now that the tomato soup had exploded. Preparing the meal with his survival grill, Jon dug in. He’d have to go looking for more food in the morning. He’d already gotten lucky finding the cans of soup, maybe there’d be more further into the structure. Once done with his hearty meal, he tossed the empty can over into a corner away from the rest of his shit. 

Stripping off his soiled shirt, Jon noted that the areas that came into contact with the goo were irritated and itchy. Figuring it an allergic reaction to the mold, Jon picked up another one of his shirts from the pile of his belongings. It wasn’t exactly clean, but it would do for now. Hopefully the reaction would be better in the morning. The last thing he needed was for it to be something major. Jon nestled down into his sleeping bag, and drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello comrades, this is an idea that I've seen floating around, and I'm essentially probing here to see if there's any interest. I honestly have no clue where I'm going to take this, so I'll storyboard once I get a general idea of the reception. I know it's pretty short, and I'm going to try to make the next chapters somewhat longer. How's my writing style? Does it need any work? I'd love to hear suggestions, and feel free to be critical. I'd love to hear from you, and I hope you're all doing well in these trying times. Thank y'all so much for reading my shit!


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